


On Her Highness' Secret Service

by Longpig



Series: KYE Extras [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coran Coran The Gorgeous Man, Coran is a terrible influence, Crack, F/M, False Identity, Gen, Incognito, Keith is a girl drink drunk, Overprotective Coran, Post-Season/Series 02, Remix, VLD comic references, Walking the fine line between paternal and creepy, a sad shiro-less void
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10989561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig
Summary: The Space Mall may be a far cry from the Unalu swap moon he remembers, but Coran is not about to let the the last Princess of Altea wander around alone and unprotected, vacation or no.





	On Her Highness' Secret Service

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Know Your Enemy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749138) by [Longpig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/pseuds/Longpig). 



> When I was writing APM (Chapter 1 of Know Your Enemy), I had this vision of overprotective Coran skulking around in potted plants and such, like an episode of Scooby Doo or something. So here it is.

Princess Allura sits beside him in the cockpit of the shuttle, gazing off into space. “I’m still not convinced this is wise,” she sighs. “My place is at the castle, with the Paladins, not traipsing through the space mall on some sort of shopping spree.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, Highness! Doctor Coran’s orders!” he chirps reassuringly. He glances sidelong at her, catches the small smile that flits across her face. _She looks so tired._ He’s worried about her; they all are. Ever since Shiro disappeared, she’s been running herself ragged, and it’s starting to show. “Besides, they helped me plan this!” She turns her head to look at him now, mildly amused.

“Really?”

“Pidge and Lance even booked you some spa treatments at the resort!” he confirms. The Blue Paladin has a great many opinions about skincare, and treating oneself. Quite commendable, really.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint them.” She smiles again, and seems to relax a little.

“That’s the spirit, Princess! By the time we see you tomorrow, you’ll be as calm and carefree as a baby klybax in a puddle of lophantine!” He steers the little craft expertly through the parking garage, sniping a prime spot as an elderly betentacled alien pulls out in a flashy single seater that just screams mid-life crisis. Coran tsks quietly to himself. _So tacky!_

Allura gathers up her little bag, but she hesitates at the door of their shuttle. “Are you sure it’ll be alright?”

“Of course! It’s just overnight, after all.” He gives her his most encouraging smile.

“Just overnight,” she repeats. “I suppose… What could be the harm?”

“That’s the spirit!” He opens the door for her, and gives her a little hug before she departs, disappearing behind the mall’s tinted glass doors.

As soon as she is out of sight, Coran springs into action. His disguise, tucked away in the storage cabin, takes only a few ticks to pull together: a long, dusty space pirate’s trench coat, and a pair of sun glasses which the Blue Paladin assures him are not only completely fool-proof, but also “kickin’ rad”. As a final touch, he grows out his whiskers into a luxuriant, majestic full beard - his powers of shapeshifting are no match for Allura’s, but it does help out in a pinch! He looks over his reflection approvingly in a pocket mirror, twirling his mustache appreciatively - _perfect._

The Space Mall may be a far cry from the Unalu swap moon he remembers, but he’ll be swozzled if he lets the last Princess of Altea wander around here unprotected, vacation or no. There are still ruffians about, and he can’t risk her getting turned around in some vacant corner of the mall and being robbed, or worse. He knows, of course, that Allura is no fragile flower; but if something _were_ to happen… No, guarding her is his life’s purpose, his last duty to Alfor. But discretion, he knows, is the better part of valor. _And discretion is my middle name! Coran Hieronymous Discretion Wimbledon Smythe._

He catches up with her as she wanders into a pet store. Between the crowds and the uncanny abundance of large potted ferns, he is able to get quite close without being detected. She fawns over a litter of baby yuppers, but to Coran’s great relief, leaves with just a bag of treats for the mice. He hadn’t much fancied the idea of cleaning up puddles all over the castle.

The Princess seems to relax a little more as she rambles from shop to shop. She lets a particularly keen cosmetics clerk try about a dozen products on her; not that she needs any of them, of course. The salesperson plies her with free samples, and Allura is delighted. From his hiding spot behind a display of hairspray, Coran smiles wistfully to himself. _Like a child in an old-fashioned Altean sweet shop!_ Minus the guard drones, of course.

Calling on his years of Altean surveillance training, he slips behind piercing kiosks and magazine stands as he tails his oblivious quarry, her arms increasingly laden with bags and packages. It’s a lucky thing that Kythylian Mu gave them a share of the GAC the Yalexian pearl earned, he thinks, or he’d have no idea how they were going to pay for all of this. Finally, after stopping at the food court for a quick bite (though not at the surprisingly popular Galra restaurant, which has an unaccountably long queue!), Allura heads toward the hotel check-in, then up to her room with her purchases. Coran consults his mental itinerary. _14:00, seaweed wrap; 16:00, massage…_ Everything is proceeding according to schedule! He takes up his next position at the poolside bar, and orders a self-congratulatory glass of their fruitiest beverage. It comes with _two_ umbrellas.

The princess arrives about an hour later, fresh faced and radiant, dressed for the pool, with a towel draped over her arm. She sets it on a deck chair before easing herself into the bubbling hot water. It’s just as he predicted - she could never resist a good soak. He smiles behind his raised newspaper; he hasn’t seen her so at ease in weeks. She even orders a drink from a solicitous server.

Yes, it’s all ticking along quite cosily, until _that_ fellow shows up. Coran disrelishes the look of him from the go. He doesn’t like the way he looks at Allura, or his easy manner with her. _Don’t you know you’re talking to a princess?!_ He wants to yell; but … discretion. _Discretion._ She doesn’t seem bothered, and _of course_ she is more than capable of taking care of herself; but there’s something about this scoundrel that makes him suspicious. When she gets up to leave for her next appointment, his relief is prodigious.

It’s also short-lived.

When Allura emerges from her room, she’s dressed in a shimmering frock the colour of a juniberry bloom. _Alfor’s little girl, all grown up,_ he thinks. She’s given more attention than usual to her hair, and… _Is that lipstick?_ Coran’s apprehension grows. Surely she can’t have been taken in by that profligate…! But sure enough, when he finds the Princess in the hotel restaurant, there he is again, all spurious smiles and counterfeit charm; and Coran is about ready to eat his own mustache. Instead, he takes a seat at the bar.

“What can I get for you?” The Unalu mixologist eyes him with curiosity, possibly wondering why one would need to wear dark glasses inside; possibly just assessing the rad-ness of said spectacles. He sighs.

“Got any nunville?” Mercifully, they do.

Coran’s instincts are at war. On one hand, he’s hearing more alarm bells than that one time he forgot to pay at the Fripping Bulgogian. He has half a mind to march over and drag that boy out by his pointed purple ear and give him the thrashing of a lifetime for daring to put his filthy hands on the princess. On the other, he can’t fail to notice how happy Allura seems; she’s laughing like she hasn’t in some time. He notices the way she leans into her companion when he touches her hand. He’s beginning to wonder if perhaps this is beyond the scope of his original mission. After all, he does remember what it’s like to be young. _Ah, quiznak._ He downs his drink, leaves some cash on the counter, and retreats to the lobby. What’s the worst that could happen? She’ll still have her com link… And if she is so much as a tick overdue for her pickup tomorrow, Coran vows that he will hunt down that no-account rake and flay him with a dull spoon.

He finds some fellows in the lounge up for a match of ludwiqs and tries not to think about it too much. When he decides to call it a night and head up to his own room, he studiously avoids noticing Allura and her ‘friend’ falling all over each other by the elevator. He elects to wait for the next one. Just then, the tiny earpiece he’s been wearing to keep in contact with the ship buzzes to life and he nearly jumps out of his boots.

“ _Hey Coran, it’s Keith. Everything okay down there?”_

“Yes! Hello! This is Coran speaking!” He ducks around a corner, out of sight. “Everything’s fine! Totally fine!” He aims for nonchalant but ends up somewhere around manic.

 _"Uhh…  How’s the Princess?”_ Coran is sweating like he has the Slipperies all over again.

“She’s fine! She’s just having a nice sex!”

_"What?!”_

“REST! I said _REST_! She’s fine, we’re all fine, down here, got to go now!”

_"Coran --”_

“Oh no, you’re breaking up! Coran out! Goodbye now!” Horrified, he yanks out the tiny communicator, throws it on the ground, and stomps on it a few times for good measure.

 _Well, that went smoothly._ Perhaps, he thinks, another drink is in order. Something with a _lot_ of umbrellas.

“Back again, huh?” The bartender remarks as she pulls a pint of something green.

“It’s been that kind of day,” he sighs. “I’ll have a Vakarti Widowmaker.” She arches an eyebrow.

“Guess it must’ve been.”

As she slides the viridian beverage down to another customer, and starts to make his drink, Coran tries not to worry about Allura. If only he had even some idea of who that reprobate _was_ . Then it occurs to him - bartenders are meant to know all kinds of things. _Well, worth a shot!_ He waits until she’s finished scooping ice into the extra-tall shaker, then leans in over the bar, eyeing her over the rims of his glasses.

“Say, would you happen to know anything about that chap who was in here earlier? Yellow eyes, white hair?” _And absolutely no sense of propriety,_ he doesn’t add.

“Oh, you mean the guy with the super-hot girlfriend?” It’s a good thing his drink isn’t ready yet, because he would likely have choked on it.

“She is _not_ his --” he sputters, then catches himself. “Ah, yes, that’s the fellow.” The Unalu gives him a perplexed look.

“Are you her dad or something?”

“What? No. Just - maybe an uncle?”

“Whatever.” She offers him a four-armed shrug before she starts shaking up the cocktail. “Anyway I don’t know anything, except he seems to have more GAC than Zarkon. And he smells nice,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Well that is certainly… reassuring.” She shrugs again, busy with pouring and garnishes. When she’s finished, she sets down a goblet of ominously fizzing liquid, its rim piled high with fruit slices. He reaches for it gratefully, and inhales the aroma, letting the fumes burn his nostrils a bit. He’s just about to take a sip when a familiar voice catches him by surprise.

“Coran?” It’s the Red Paladin. _How did he get here so blasted fast?_ He has a sudden vision of the Red Lion crashing through the parking bay - but there haven’t been any alarms, so hopefully that’s not the case. Hopefully. “You weren’t answering your com.” Keith frowns, looking around the bar. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, of course! Just a little malfunction!” That was true; he’d malfunctioned it right into the lobby carpet. “Say… how did you see through my disguise?”

“Those are Lance’s sunglasses,” he shrugs. “He wears them all the time.”

“Ah. Well, I suppose that makes sense.” Coran sighs, and takes them off. He shifts away the extra facial hair as well; there isn’t much point to his dissimulation now anyway, and the beard is making him itchy.

“Are you sure you’re okay here? Where’s Allura?”

“She - she went to bed,” he answers, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Really? It seems… kind of early.” Keith is looking at him with something like suspicion. _Think fast, Coran!_

“Well… she had a couple of these,” he gestures toward his drink, “and I think it made her sleepy. She’s always been a bit of a lightweight, eh?” He gives him a conspirator’s nudge, but Keith still seems unconvinced.

“Maybe we should just call her comlink and check on her.”  

“No, no, that’s not necessary!” Coran shakes his head so quickly that it takes his vision a tick to catch up. “We don’t want to disturb her; she’s supposed to be getting away from it all!” _Also, she will quite literally murder us._ This, at least, seems to give Keith pause.

“I guess you’re right… But --”

“No buts, my boy!” He cuts him off before he can start asking any more questions. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink instead?” He beams a winning smile at Keith. “How about a Lacustrian Depth Charge? It’ll put hair on your chest!” He claps the boy on the shoulder, and when Keith sits down next to him, he knows he’s off the hook.

“Well… maybe just one drink.”

 

 

The next morning, Coran finds Allura right where she’s supposed to be, waiting by the fountain just inside the mall’s main entrance. He could only have been more relieved if Shiro had turned up with her. But she looks relaxed and happy, and apparently undamaged. She hums a little tune as she helps load her shopping into the shuttle.

“So… how was your vacation?” he asks, because it would seem odd if he didn’t.

“Oh, very… restorative!” She smiles enigmatically; he is grateful for the vague reply. “In the future I shall have to remember that you are my Royal Advisor for good reason.” As she stows the last of her parcels, there’s a muffled moan from the rear of the craft. “What…” She cranes her neck to peer into the back seat. “Is that Keith?”

“Ah yes! We had a bit of a boys’ night out on the other side of the moon!” Coran replies cheerfully. “Turns out poor Keith can’t hold his liquor nearly as well as you’d expect for a Red Paladin!”

“When I die,” Keith groans, looking ironically rather more on the green side, “tell Lance he can’t have my stuff.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some things in this fic are references to the VLD comic, if you're wondering what the quiznak a Yalexian Pearl is, for instance. :)


End file.
